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Ghost in the Machine

In which Misaka Mikoto did fall apart after the Level 6 Shift Experiment, and a certain Esper had to find out about it in the most obscure way.

Note: I have absolutely no excuse. I just miss writing, and I just miss writing about Accel and Misaka, so here we are again. Probably slow updates because finals are closing in on my unmotivated butt, but you know me, I get shit done (most of the time). And we have the whole summer, so guarantee y'all are gonna be seeing me popping up here quite often. Of course that is if everyone is not sick of me and my stories already, ha...

Warning: Spoilers, mostly from the Railgun manga and NT.

Disclaimer: Do I own the To Aru series? No. Do I wish I did? Hell. Yes.

Cover Image: Mikoto's Transformation from the To Aru Majutsu Railgun Manga

Don't forget to leave a comment!

"There was never a place for me here." - Misaka Mikoto, NT Volume 13.

I.

Beyond the stupor.

He was late.

Granted, he was many things, but one of the things that Accelerator had come to hate most about himself was probably the questionable ability of his to always come late at stuff that was actually important – late to save the brat, late to save himself, late to pull his fucking head out of his ass.

But if there was one gigantic pile of utter shit of a failure he'd ever made, this – this had to be it.

"I failed."

Kamijou Touma said, and right there on his face was probably the most devastating look Accelerator had ever seen of the guy. His usual white shirt was crumpled and dirtied, there was fickle of blood crusted all over his skin and hair, and the tight fists curling against his sides spoke more than the rough, choked breath he was talking through ever could. The room they were in reeked of blood and antiseptics, and for once Accelerator did not seem to mind any of it.

"She…she was right there. I could have reached out faster…I fucking could have saved her."

There, in front of them, lying on the bed was the pale, unmoving body of Misaka Mikoto. Her trademark chestnut hair is splayed flat on the whitewashed pillow, the once tanned lines of skin were now stark white, looking almost as transparent as his skin was. Her arms were rested above the thin blanket obscuring her frame, and they looked like they had been mauled across a garden full of roses – angry and purple marks marred in patches and welts on her already skinny limbs. Accelerator had seen many dead versions of the Esper girl, but he was certain the one lying in front of him then would be haunting his mind for the rest of his life the most. The girl looked as dead as everything else in the room was, and the stricken reality of it was a cold chill spiraling down his spine.

He wanted to rat out at the guy next to him, to curse and spat out whatever that was turning his insides out then, but he knew the Imagine Breaker didn't need his conniption fit to feel the wretchedness they were standing under then.

"If I'd just moved faster...Fuck."

Kamijou breathed, huffed, hard knuckles tightening and loosening against the front of his pants. It was small and subtle, but still a habitual reflex of the body itself nonetheless. For the Imagine Breaker, it was to restrain himself under the crippling pressure of the what-ifs and constant regrets for what already passed. For Accelerator, it was simply holding himself back from blowing up the fucking building they were in. His insides were a jumbling, incoherent mess, and his outer skin just felt dry and cracked. He was cleaner and much more appropriately dressed than Touma for sure, but the guy's mussed up appearance made a quite fitting picture of what Accelerator was feeling right then.

You'd think after all the shitstorm he'd gone through, he'd be pretty good at controlling himself by now. Or at least accustomed to it. Or even, resigned.

But the truth was that controlling himself was as itchy, as achy, and as wrenchingly as difficult as ever. This wasn't something he was used to. He was used to letting go, used to letting the rage, the contempt eat at his whole and releasing everything he had in himself to the world. He never cared about what occurred after the destruction, after the pain and the blood and the loss. At least, not until that morning, when a sudden shock wave rattled at his brain with the force of a bull and rendered him gasping for air for hours before a familiar scream cut everything to black.

And there they were now, with Misaka Mikoto's stiff and motionless body in the hospital's "special" ward, and him standing next to the last person he'd ever want to be around within at least a 20 mile radius. And the crippling, inimical force pushing down his throat and spiking into his skin weighed like an elephant in the room.

"It's all my fault – "

Touma continued, and Damn, does he ever even shut up, but Accelerator knew better than to correct the guy. No one in the room then was at fault. But the hero would always be the hero, and that included taking every possible responsibility and shouldering them all. Accelerator almost snorted. Fucking dumbass. He was no hero, never would be, and the girl lying in front of him there would be his most trusted witness.

"Do…do you think she'll ever come back?"

Touma asked, and the sound was a heavy sigh ripping out from his throat.

Honestly? He doesn't know. He doesn't know any of this. He just woke up with the most painful headache of his life and the source of all his misery and guilt-trips a human vegetable. Funny how so much could happen in a day. Funny how so much he could realize just looking at a half-dead girl.

Dimly, he could still hear the soft cries of a bunch of girls outside of the door. All looked like middle scholars, one of them was wearing the same uniform as the Third, and the look in her wet eyes when she saw him appearing was enough to tug at his skin and prickle at his back. Besides him, Touma sighed, snapped, growled under his throat. Accelerator took another long look at the girl in bed, watched the IV pouch drip life back the tube drop by drop, listened to the flat silence of a PVS ward, and left.

The sky was bright and sunny when he opened the door. Accelerator went on his way back to home, and tried to squander away the urge to raise the world to the ground.

x

x

x

That night, he dreamed again.

He never slept anymore. He hadn't slept like a normal, functioning human being for such a long time. Now, it was just closing his eyes and leaving to another world, another place where his hands turned bloody and his screams got muffled in the empty void. The Sisters came in now and then, but they never cried, just stood and watched him tear himself apart. He let them. It was a pathetic excuse for redemption, but a habit nonetheless.

This time was different, however. The void looked the same, but his hands were still clean. There was no dead bodies lying around. He couldn't even feel his breathing. Accelerator just stayed and looked around, feeling exceptionally narcissistic with himself. Maybe for some mandate reason from some higher-ups above, he was finally spared a day.

But the train of thoughts was cut short, however, as soon as he felt his face suddenly getting slapped to the side with a resounding smack. Accelerator barely had time to register anything before he was knocked onto the ground, and a heavy weight dropped on to his stomach.

A familiar voice hissed from above him, and when falling strands of brown hair brushed lightly across his face, Accelerator felt his whole being turned upside down.

"What did you do this time, you jerk?"

(TBC)